I have a weak heart.

I used to have a soul that burned with unbridled determination.

[Unbridled joy and optimism.]

I am still determined,

I say.

But the fire gutters —

I am ashamed to see it so —

And yet I do not poke at it to reignite.

Perhaps I see no point in the light.

Perhaps I am content to let it cool.

I am ashamed.

Perhaps my little fire just needs a direction and then it will catch.

I do not want it to suffocate.